The children prayed, the preacher preached

  Time and mercy is out of your reach

  I'll fix your feet til you can't walk

  I'll lock your jaw til you can't talk

  I'll close your eyes so you can't see

  This very hour, come and go with me

  I'm death I come to take the soul

  Leave the body and leave it cold

  To draw up the flesh off of the frame

  Dirt and worm both have a claim

  O, Death

  O, Death

  Won't you spare me over til another year

  Excerpt from "Oh Death", a Song by Ralph Stanley.

  Alyssa, the wolves, and Mireille followed the servant into the fortified mansion.

  The white-haired girl looked around as the servant began to explain a statue they just passed. Some ancestor who had founded the settlement, apparently. There were some old stone slabs worn smooth by many feet forming the middle of the floor surrounded by newer, more precisely cut blocks.

  More recent walls lead up to older, rougher sections.

  “...and there are the guest quarters.” The servant pointed down a corridor. Small slits opposite a row of doors illuminating everything in a dim whitish light. As she watched, a snowflake drifted in with the wind.

  Shuddering from remembered discomfort, as the cold no longer bothered her so acutely, Alyssa looked at Mireille and found her staring at a mural depicting a fight against Wolf-tribe people.

  The girl wrinkled her nose and looked at Alyssa, who shrugged helplessly.

  Soon, they reached a large doorway and entered to the sound of voices and clinking of cutlery.

  “Ah. There you are.” The baron, seated at the head of a large table, looked up and spoke.

  Alea was seated near him on the right side of the table, facing the door. Windows with inset glass panes brightened the room.

  It was a dining room meant more for family than for presentation. Rugs scattered on the floor softened the harsh stone and gave everything a warmer appearance.

  Flames crackled in a large fireplace behind the baron.

  “We greet thee, Baron,” Mordrak spoke first and inclined his head a fraction.

  “Mh. Be welcome at my hearth this day. A few weeks back, you would have fought for every step you just took.” The Baron gave a crooked smile while taking a swig from his flagon. “And those are your friends?” He eyed Alea, behind which Butler One was a silent presence.

  Iseret sat farther down the table and looked at everything with mild interest.

  “Yes, those are Alyssa Miner and Mireille Annirstochter, my friends and companions.”

  “Then sit down, all of you. The kitchen will bring some more food. I’m Amdyr, the Baron of these lands.”

  The steward was nowhere to be seen; only two guards stood near the door.

  Soon, everyone was seated, and two servants brought more plates and bowls of soup and stew.

  “If I understand correctly, you plan to cross the mountains? In Winter? I know I repeat myself, but even with the blessing of the gods, you will be hard pressed.” The baron, having finished eating, leaned back in his chair.

  “Yes, we have to do it soon, or we will be too late,” Alyssa answered.

  “Too late for what? The undead have been a plague since my fathers, fathers time. Why is it urgent now?”

  “The lich queen wakes, and she is no longer content to wait. Everything, from Zygmund becoming an undead abomination to the assassination of the king, is linked to her. As we talk, the lands south of us bear the brunt of an invasion. If we wait, we will only see her armies marching on us from all directions.”

  “The gods themselves have told us,” Alea interjected quietly.

  The Baron sighed, and some complex emotions flickered through his eyes. “Is that so? We don’t usually go into the mountains at this time of year. There is one outpost in the foothills to the east. Mountainswatch. Your friend, the sergeant, will be there for the foreseeable future.” He smirked. “A few scouts with some of our best cold protections could accompany you. But don’t expect us to send more. We don’t have the magical means to make sure they survive.“

  “Every help you can give us would be appreciated.“ Alyssa looked conflicted. On the one hand, the fate of this region may well be decided by their actions, but on the other hand, they were just a bunch of children, really. Who would take them seriously when they did not know what they had achieved already?

  In a cavernous smithy, deep beneath the mountains.

  The mithril glowed under the light of the forge, and runes inset into the walls gave off a soft dark-red radiance as the forgemaster turned the axe blade a final time, the tongs holding it steady gripped firmly in a metallic glove. Inspecting the lines of enchantment and the balance of the differing elements, he grunted once, signaling his approval.

  Mithril had become scarce since the Undermines had come under attack. It was as if the whole mountain had turned against them, its kin.

  ?Motok Dreamer, under the mountain, keep us safe.‘ The old dwarf silently prayed.

  ?Forgemaster.“ A dwarven guard attired in heavy plate armor stood respectfully at the side. ?Is it done?“

  Without answering, the one addressed as forge master turned to a basin full of murky water. Small specs of glittering gold swam in the liquid, and as the axe head was sunk into it, they were drawn towards the metal, fusing with it, as the water bubbled and hissed with heat.

  ?It needs to be sharpened and set. But then it will be ready.“

  ?Will there be enough for another?“

  ?No, this was the last of the stock. With how the battle has been going, there won’t be.“ The white beard braided into two thick ropes and stuck into his belt to keep it from burning fluttered with a loud huff. ?No. This axe. It's going to be mine. By Motok, I won’t be found hiding in my workshop, cowering behind my anvil. Time to split some skulls.“

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mireille clapped her hands together, rubbing them to dispel the cold. The yard in front of the mansion was kept relatively clean by servants, but even they could not contend with the harsh winter; snow piled up in nooks and crannies and in the corners of the court.

  ?How long?“ She shivered.

  ?Must be soon. The servant said they would be here.“ Alyssa frowned.

  Three men walked through a reinforced side door. Their bodies were swaddled in fur, fur cloaks, boots, and gloves. Beards covered most of their visible faces. The oldest and most weathered of them walked ahead.

  ?The name’s Oll. Just Oll. And these are Nardak and Frederick. You must be the ones the Baron mentioned?“

  ?You must be the scouts that the Baron promised. Have you been told why you are here?“ Alyssa smiled at them. A bit stiff from the cold.

  ?Mh. You want to go into the mountains.“ The old scout frowned. ?Why at this time of year? When I look at you, most of you will have a very hard time.“ He raised an eyebrow at Iseret and just about caught himself from shaking his head in disbelief.

  ?You know about the increased attacks by the undead? That Zygmund von Nordmark was a vampire?“

  ?Rumors. Rumors and some pretty shitty things. Pardon me, my lady. And what does that have to do with you going into the bloody mountains in winter? “ The longer they talked, the more he lost his composure.

  ?We aim to stop or at least delay those attacks. If nothing is done, Fernhome will be the first to fall.“

  ?Aye. I know when I have to stop meself asking. But promise me by whatever you hold dear, this is not some whim. And that there is a chance for it to matter.“

  ?We would not risk our lives if it were otherwise. I swear by Charis.“ Alyssa hesitated before uttering the name of the only deity she fully respected.

  ?Then so be it. We have gathered supplies and a healthy mule. It will keep until we reach the mountains properly, and then we will have to leave it behind. When will we be leaving?“

  ?I think tomorrow will do. And don’t be afraid; we are all magicians from the academy, and some things might be a bit startling.“

  ?I thought as much.“ Oll nodded in the direction of the academy’s heraldry prominently displayed on the cloak Alyssa wore.

  They returned to the inn soon after, warming up near the fire in the taproom before eating a late supper and adjourning to bed. The next morning, after eating breakfast, they departed the inn, bidding goodbye to the taverneeper.

  Outside the gates, they met up with Oll and his men as a light snow swirled flakes of white around the dull grey chimneys and white-clad roofs of the town.

  The gates were opened with some difficulty as snow had to be shoveled aside for it to open.

  And then they were off.

  Beyond the walls of Fernhome fields that would grow rye or barley in summer were mere low swells of snow. Farmhouses squatted between stands of walnut and other fruit-bearing trees. Sheds held what lifestock the people had left after the depredations of the duke and his dreams of conquest. The bleating of goats and the mooing of cows disrupted the early morning's silence as the farmer fed and watered his charges.

  Waystones and even a signpost jutted out of the snow, giving a hint to where the road would have been visible if not buried under some meters of snow.

  Oll and his men silently forged ahead toward the not-so-distant line of trees marking the outer edge of the land reclaimed from the ancient forest covering the nearby mountains and foothills.

  Soon, they forged ahead into the shadowed whiteness underneath the barren trees. Some stands of coniferous woods added splashes of dark green.

  The weather was mostly sunny, but with a lack of wind, the silence underneath the snow-laden branches became oppressive.

  Mireille walked up to Alea, ?And you made a miracle? Can you show me?“

  ?I did not. Jaros helped me on his own.“ The smaller girl sat astride her horse, as did Alyssa and Iseret. Mireille had decided that this would be too boring and walked alongside them, slowed down as they were by the presence of the mule and the scouts.

  ?And? What was it like? The people in the inn were saying that you shone with sacred light.“ Grinning, Mireille jogged a bit to keep up as Alea made her horse go faster.

  Alea blushed. ?No. There were only his glowing hands on my shoulders. I felt he wanted to make my journey a bit easier.“

  ?Sounds nice.“

  ?Mpf. It is. But it is also quite embarrassing. And I hope he will never regret choosing me.“ After admitting the last Alea hunched into her cloak not daring to look at the teasing smile on Mireille’s face.

  ?Leave her alone. You know she does not like to talk about that. You could have asked Iseret.“ Alyssa admonished.

  ?And miss all the fun?“

  Mordrak gave an amused huff at that while keeping his eyes firmly on the surrounding underbrush.

  A small, undead feline scampered on top of some dead branches, jumping from one to the other, with flickering shadows outlining its bony form.

  Hella, the female wolf-tribe scout, grumbled to herself as she saw its ghostly eyes shimmering in the shadows. ?Unnatural.“ She scoffed and spat into the snow.

  ?This one is yours?“ Oll asked in Alyssa’s direction. The girl was sitting astride her horse, Cyrus curled around her and covered in some blankets until only his snout was visible.

  ?Mh. Yes, this is my familiar, my other familiar that is.“

  ?If you would keep it away from the mule? And me, if possible?“ Oll looked at the crouching shadow nearly vanishing into the gloom under a fallen tree and shuddered.

  ?I will tell him.“ Alyssa said as bright as she could and stroked Cyrus beneath the blankets. Worrying at the cold feel of his leathery skin.

  Evening came swiftly as the sun sunk beneath the craggy peaks to the west. Fortunately, the experienced scouts, both human and wolfen, had already found them a small dell surrounded by conifers, and soon a fire was fed to life with small branches and some judicious application of magic.

  Alyssa waved her hand, dispersing the smoke coming from her fingertips, and grinned. ?I still got it.“ Manipulating elemental energies other than void had been increasingly laborious after her transformation.

  Holding some bread and jerky over the flames to make them a bit more palatable, they had a short meal before bedding down in their insulated bedrolls for the night.

  Alyssa sat against a stout oak. Cyrus had decided against accompanying her and was pressed against Mireille, who was as close to the fire as possible without risking burns.

  And somewhere nearby, the Alp hunted beneath the ground for the life of mice.

  And somewhere nearby, the old ghost of Gaddy Hatsfield sang of death and fever, of last wishes and an end delayed.

  Somewhere deeper in the woods, the wight Calmund von Nordmark waited patiently, surrounded by skeletal warriors astride fleshless steeds.

  The leaf that fell, Cyclops of the empire of the blood-tree raised his singular eye and looked at the heavens. His troops, the Unrepentant, those that remained after the failed assault on the city of ivory were nearly healed. The great warbeasts as hale as he could make them, with his magic diminished so far from the source. Soon, they would fight again. Until none were left or the enemy lay slain.

  The white-bearded Forgemaster stood among his fellow dwarves. A few dozen were all that remained. After betrayal had opened the night-gates. A few guards accompanied the children and women in their flight toward the east. Perhaps they would find solace somewhere among the humans or a distant clan. He rubbed his callused hands over the edge of his newly forged axe and smiled as it drew blood with nary a bit of pressure. The runes forged into the surface of the mithril glowed with a reddish light. Too bright for blood alone.

  Dark bronze gates cut off the hall from the rest of the underground settlement; the hall itself was lit by glowing crystals set into towering statues portraying dwarfen warriors, smiths, and scholars. Soon, they would go forth and slay as many of the blighted corpses as they could. They would not surrender the clanhold to decay nor flee for the lowlands.

  Soon.